Royal answered.
“The one who took a cut from Callum. The one Camille warned us about.”
The words landed hard.
Camille.
AlwaysCamille.
I pulled on my jacket. Grabbed the collar from the edge of the desk. Not to leash her. To show them what they tried to steal. Barron handed me his phone.
“This is the man who pulled her. The one who knocked.”
The screen showed a face. Pocked skin. Crooked nose. Dead eyes.
I memorized it. Then I handed it back.
“He dies last.”
Barron nodded.
Loyal spoke again.
“We go quiet or loud?”
I looked at him. I didn’t answer. Because they already knew. I walked to the door. Royal opened it. Loyal followed. Barron behind him. I was the last one out.
I needed one more second. To stand in the apartment that still smelled like her skin. To feel the weight of everything I didn’t say.
I touched the doorframe. Then I whispered her name. And walked into war.
Cloe
I knew they thought I wouldn’t last.
That I’d sit there in that rusted metal chair, hands tied, mouth broken open from hours of forced stillness, and eventually give in to the weight of it.
But I’d lived too long in silence to believe it could undo me. It wasn’t silence that hurt. It was what came after.
The door had stayed closed for what felt like hours. No sound except the soft hum of something electric in the walls. Maybe a cooler. Maybe a wire running to a camera they hadn’t told me about. Maybe nothing. But it was there. Buzzing. Waiting.
I worked my wrists against the ropes. Slow. Measured.
Pain sparked along the inside of my forearms, skin splitting in quiet tears as I twisted, pulled, flexed. Blood slicked the edge of the knot.
I kept going. Because pain was the only language I still trusted. My breath came ragged now. Not from fear. From effort. The right rope was loosening.
I shifted again. Legs shaking, thighs locked, my ankles still bound tight to the chair legs. Every movement sent a scrape of steel across concrete. I froze after each sound, ears tuned for footsteps. None came.
I bit my tongue. Tasted blood. Good. The rope gave. A flicker. Enough.
I didn’t move yet. I didn’t celebrate. Because one wrong twitch and they’d come back before I was ready.
I waited. Let my hand fall limp again. Let the numbness drain. When the door finally opened, it took everything not to jolt.
I closed my eyes. Listened. Not the clean-shoes man this time. Heavy footfalls. Broader frame. Thicker breath. Theoriginal one. The one with the rag. His boots thudded closer. I opened my eyes. He grinned.
“Still tied up, sweetheart?”
